Not Wanting to Let Go
by Morganeth Taren'drel
Summary: set at the beginning of season 2 shortly after Dean's released from the hospital Dean is temporally forced to leave restoration of the Impala in Sam's hands. Enjoy!


**AN**: Here's another Hurt/Comfort fic that my friend Jade prompted me with, you might notice I tend to focus my 'attention' on Dean. It's a little unfair I know, but I really do love his character. I hope you all enjoy!

**Edited by**: H.V. Cinnamon – Thanks so much!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the characters from Supernatural

**Not Wanting to Let Go**

It was early afternoon when Sam stepped out of Bobby's house and made his way through the rows of cars to the Impala Dean was slowly rebuilding. It had long ago become an obsession for Dean, so long as there was no hunt to slow him down. For the most part, Sam left his brother to his work, knowing little good came from trying to interrupt. And to be honest to himself Sam was eager to get back on the road.

Sam saw Dean's legs sticking out from under the car, grooves scraped into the dirt from the heels of his boots. He thought he heard a muttered curse as Dean shifted position, his boots digging deeper into the ground.

"Dean, have you taken a break yet today?" Sam asked, kneeling next to his brother's legs. There was no response for several seconds before another muffled curse, when Dean began to cough violently. Sam ducked forward so he could catch a view of Dean lying twisted on the roller, right elbow covering his mouth.

He waited until the fit had passed before resting a hand on Dean's shin to make sure he had his brother's attention. "You alright, Dean?"

WMWMWMW

Dean looked down his body, just able to make out part of Sam's face watching him. He cleared his throat, hazel eyes going back to what he'd been doing. "I'll come get something once I'm finished here." He'd been working on the drive shaft for hours, but wasn't about to leave until he was done despite the fact that he was finding it harder and harder to breathe, comfortably laying on his back as he was.

"You've been at this since before six, and until well past midnight last night," Sam pressed, his hand not leaving Dean's jean clad leg.

"Want to get back on the road, we need the Impala," he countered quickly, working to suppress another bout of coughing. Dean had been feeling off for the last couple of days; he'd woken up this morning feeling like his head was stuffed with cotton. But none of that was going to stop him from continuing his work.

Sam's hand tightened its grip. "You need to eat something." Dean's stomach churned at the very thought. "Ten minutes, I think you can spare that."

"Not hungry," Dean bit out, refocusing his attention on the task at hand, only to have to turn to the side as another coughing fit struck. He'd only just managed to draw a shallow breath when he was jerked out from under the car. Squinting up at Sam, Dean's eyes narrowed.

"Take a break." It sounded distinctly like an order.

Dean shrugged his brother's hand off, wiping his shirt sleeve across his forehead before getting to his feet. The last thing Dean wanted to do these last few days was stop working; it gave him way too much time to think. And nothing good was going to come of that, at least not right now. Everything was too fresh in his mind, especially his father's last words. "I'll come in when I'm done," Dean said, looking back at the Impala. He could feel the need to cough tickling at the back of his throat, and tried his best to suppress it.

"Do you even know when that will be?" Sam returned immediately.

"What? You don't have enough to do?" He was unable to suppress the need to cough any longer but pushed out: "You should have gone with Bobby..."

Sam didn't answer the questions, but stepped into Dean's personal space. "How long have you been coughing like that?"

"Quit worrying so much." The older Winchester took a step back but ran out of room when he hit the Impala.

"Someone's got to be concerned about whether you live or die," was Sam's response and it sounded to Dean like his brother was trying to keep the tone light. But neither of them had been able to really fool themselves these last few weeks; there was always the unspoken hiding just beneath their words.

Dean shook his head, and was glad for the fact that he was leaning against his car, when the world continued to spin for a few moments after. "A little cold isn't going to kill me," he tossed back, clearing his throat.

"Maybe not, but it's a good excuse to take a break," Sam insisted, reaching out a hand so he could press his palm against Dean's forehead, "You're running a fever."

"You always did have a knack for stating the obvious." His smile was sarcastic as he brushed Sam's hand away. "Still too much to do on the Impala," Dean countered, glancing briefly at his watch. There was still plenty of time left in the day.

Sam's expression settled into a stubborn look as he folded his arms across his chest. "You know, I do know my way around cars."

His eyes widened in shock, "The Impala isn't just any car; she's special." He began to cough again.

The younger hunter shook his head with a laugh. "If you weren't my brother I'd think the fever had you hallucinating." Sam waited for the fit to pass. "C'mon Dean." He stepped aside, resting a hand on Dean's shoulder.

Dean wanted to continue the argument. He hated leaving with a job half done, but he also knew that the argument with Sam could only go around in circles so many times before _other_ subjects came up. Something Dean was eager to avoid for as long as possible.

"There's Tylenol in the house but I'll have to wait until Bobby gets back to get you something for the cough," Sam said, following Dean, though to the older Winchester it felt distinctly like he was being herded into Bobby's house.

"Don't worry about it." Dean's body betrayed him when he began to cough again. He halted just inside the door and thought he felt Sam's hand patting his back. The fit passed and Dean stepped out of the way so Sam could get into the house but saw through the corner of his eye that Sam's attention was back out in the yard. "What is it?"

"Bobby's back," Sam answered, looking back over his shoulder. "I'll be back in about twenty minutes. Try and get some rest."

Dean just waved his brother off as he made his way into the kitchen to wash the grease from his hands. He heard Bobby walk into the house over the rush of the faucet, and glanced back over his shoulder to see the older hunter heading his way. "Afternoon Bobby," he greeted with a nod of his head.

"Sam tells me you're down with the flu," he spoke with a raised eyebrow as he looked Dean up and down.

"_Nurse Sammy_ worries way too much," Dean said, rolling his eyes. He was unable to stop the coughing that followed.

Bobby chuckled, "Perhaps he has more reason than you'd like me to believe?"

He chose not to deign that with an answer and just passed Bobby by, moving into the living room to take a seat on the couch. Dean swept both hands through his hair with a sigh as he settled back in the quiet room. He didn't like the silence, didn't like not having a job on his mind. It gave an opening for things he didn't want to consider.

_"Dean, watch out for Sam...Save him, and if you can't...Kill him..."_

John's last words echoed in Dean's head. He couldn't understand it, didn't want to try, the thought made him sick to his stomach.

"If you're going to throw up I'd prefer you did it in the bathroom." Bobby's voice broke the silence.

Opening his eyes, Dean found himself looking down at the floor, head held in his hands, elbows resting on knees. He raised his head to regard Bobby. "I'll be alright," he assured.

"Here." Bobby passed a glass of water to Dean, along with a white pill.

He accepted both without comment or complaint, downing the Tylenol with a sip of water. Bobby took a seat across from Dean in a worn armchair. "You got nothing pressing, Bobby?" Dean asked, leaning back again.

"Sam seemed to think if I turned my back on you, you'd be back under the Impala," the older man chuckled.

"Don't try and tell me you've never worked sick before," Dean countered immediately. He might not have appreciated the subject matter, but at the moment any conversation was better than where his mind would like to wander.

"Sure I have," he admitted easily, though his expression took on a serious look, "I've just never worked _myself_ to that point."

Dean rolled his eyes. "There's a lot of work to do," he defended before he started coughing again. He could already feel the muscles in his abdomen begin to ache.

"Less if you'd let Sam help you," Bobby pointed out simply.

"He talks too much." Dean pulled a hand down his face, letting his head fall against the back of the couch.

"I'm no counsellor..." Bobby began to say.

"Thank goodness," Dean half laughed, half coughed.

Singer's eyes narrowed, but he didn't rise to Dean's bait. "I think there's a lot you and Sam ought to talk about."

He was a little trapped in how to respond to that; he wasn't about to tell Bobby what John had said to him. Part of him wanted to, for the advice Bobby might have been able to offer, but he couldn't find the words. He didn't want to actually say it out loud, after that there would be no denying it had happened. Dean wanted to be able to deny it; he wasn't going to let their lives come to that.

"Dean?" Blinking, Dean raised his head to look at his father's friend; Bobby pushed himself to his feet and stepped over to the couch. "You should probably lie down for a while," he said, grabbing a couple piles of books so the seats were clear. Dean hesitated to follow the older hunter's suggestion, knowing if he did Bobby would soon leave to let Dean get some 'sleep'. Dean didn't know how likely sleep would be for him, and at the moment he wasn't really interested in trying.

Reaching down, Dean began slowly untying his boots, trying to keep his thoughts focused on things around him rather than on thoughts in his head. He heard the sound of truck tires on rough gravel and knew Sammy was back. Dean actually found himself looking forward to whatever his brother had bought for the cough. More than likely it would be sedating, a state of being Dean thought he could be comfortable with for a while.

The door opened and closed before Dean looked up, but when he did Sammy was lowering himself onto the coffee table. "Here this was the strongest stuff they had," Sam said, taking the small bottle out of his pocket.

Dean made to reach for it, but had to stop when he started coughing. When the episode had passed and he could open his eyes again, Dean found that Sam had already measured out a dose and was holding it out for him. He took it with a nod of thanks, downing it like a shot. Moving to lay back on the couch, Dean knew it would probably be at least an hour before the medicine took effect, so he picked up the remote and quickly hunted down a movie.

"Dean?"

At the sound of his name Dean looked up to see Sam standing by the couch, pillow in one hand, blanket draped over the other. He let his eyes return to the screen. "Not a kid anymore, Sammy."

"Chances are you're going to fall asleep there, and I'm not lugging your heavy ass to a real bed," Sam responded without batting an eye, handing the pillow to Dean who quickly tucked it behind his head. He found it raised him up a little which made breathing easier, but he wasn't about to tell Sammy that. "So what was it you were working on with the Impala?" Sam asked, draping the heavy blanket over Dean.

He shook his head, "You're not actually going to do it..."

"Why not?" his brother asked, sitting a little straighter on the table, "It's not like I haven't done it before, and I figure so long as works, getting done you might actually rest for a few days."

"Doubt it," Dean said around a cough, "I'm just going to have to check all your work again to make sure it's right."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Or you could just trust that I can do as good a job as you." Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow at that, to which Sam just shook his head, "Never mind, I'll just figure it out for myself." He got to his feet and headed towards the door, causing Dean to sit up suddenly.

He wanted to follow, but his entire body felt like lead weights, restricting him to just watch from the window behind the couch. Worry rose in Dean as he watched Sammy walk out into the yard and move towards the Impala. He'd never been a fan of strangers doing work on her, and despite the fact that Sam was no stranger to the Impala; Dean couldn't stop the worry.

If asked later, Dean would blame it entirely on the flu and cough medicine, as he remained sitting, watching until he couldn't stay awake any longer. Finally giving into the blackness of a dreamless sleep.

Thanks for Reading!

Morganeth Taren'drel


End file.
